by Ava Bloom
Roberto laughed. “It’s admirable that you would think to try. But I have something much simpler in mind.” He pulled a printed photo out of his pocket. “This is Dmitry Volkov, the nephew of the mob leader. He’s a few years older than you and quite the player.”
I frowned at Roberto, trying to figure out what he wanted from me. “You’re not asking me to kill him, are you?” I whispered.
Again, Roberto laughed. “Of course not, darling,” he said. “If we wanted that, he’d be dead already. But his death wouldn’t help us figure out their plans, would it?”
I shook my head mutely. Then, I suddenly understood. “You want me to get close to him. To get him to spill his secrets.” I mulled it over. “You want me to take him out clubbing and get him drunk?”
“A good idea, but it would take a lot to get a Russian drunk,” Roberto said. “I was thinking more that you might…entice him. As I said, the man is a known player. Get him to take you out on a date. Get him wrapped around your finger.” He gave me another lewd once-over. “I’m sure you know what to do.”
I stared at Roberto for a moment. “You want me to seduce him, get him to trust me, and then steal the Volkov secrets,” I said slowly. It wasn’t a bad idea. And as much as I didn’t like the idea of being involved with Audaz, this wasn’t such a bad plan. They weren’t asking me to do anything illegal. But—
“If I do this, you’ll pay my mother’s medical bills?” I asked. “All of them, until she is fully recovered.”
“You have my word,” Roberto said, putting a hand over his heart. “I know how important family is. We are all Catalan.”
I paused. “And this wouldn’t make me a member of Audaz? Once I’ve done this, I don’t have to do anything else?”
“Oh no, no, no,” Roberto said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t do that to your father.”
I considered the plan. I wasn’t thrilled to pretend to date some Russian pig, for however long this took, but I’d do anything to help my family, and this could be the best way. We needed that money now, and if Audaz was willing to help...
“All right, I’ll do it,” I said. I’d just have to make sure that neither of my parents found out what I was up to. I was sure the shock would drive my mother to her grave—it would break her poor heart if she thought that everything she’d ever protected me from was ruined, all by her illness.
“Perfecto,” Roberto said, grinning toothily at me. “I’ll give you the address to our headquarters so that you can come by and learn more about Dmitry and the Volkovs.”
Chapter Two – Dmitry POV
Finding enough good beets to make proper borscht was difficult in Barcelona. The city wasn’t exactly known for using the root vegetable in its cuisine. But we were having a family dinner the following night, myself and my brothers Nikolay and Andrei, a couple cousins, and a couple uncles and aunts. I had volunteered to bring the borscht since it didn’t involve much work—not like bringing pelmeni or some of the other dishes that would be on the table. But I hadn’t thought about how many beets I would need to track down.
I visited my third market of the day and finally managed to find what I needed, in one of the stalls at the back. I breathed out a sigh of relief and filled my bag.
I loved living in Barcelona. It had been my home for three years now, and I never got tired of the beaches and the beautiful weather. But there were certain things that still made me miss home.
I missed hearing Russian all around me. My English was decent by now, but I still had very limited knowledge of Spanish. And I missed the heavy, hearty food. Spanish cuisine could definitely be tasty, with its tapas and seafood platters and tortilla. But it wasn’t the same.
What I missed most of all, though, were the women. A sexy Russian woman, with long, pale legs and immaculate makeup and attire. Not that the Spanish women weren’t attractive as well, but they were different. They were tanned, and there was something a bit more wild about them.
As though summoned by my thoughts, one of those sexy Catalonian women suddenly collided with me. I grunted and reached out automatically to steady her, raising an eyebrow in surprise when I saw how beautiful this particular specimen was. I was around attractive women pretty regularly—from Ritmo, the club that Uncle Evgeni and the family owned, to the beaches. But every once in a while, a woman came along who made all those other women look just like girls.
“I have to apologize for my clumsiness,” I told the woman, even though she had been the one to run into me. I bowed over her hand and lightly kissed it, like something out of a medieval story.
The woman blinked at me and then giggled, looking embarrassed. “It’s my fault,” she told me, shaking her head. “I was in a hurry, and I wasn’t paying attention.”
I looked down, expecting to see bags of produce knocked flying, but she didn’t seem to have purchased anything. For a moment, that struck me as strange: she was back in the far corner of the market and in a hurry, but she didn’t appear to be shopping? But maybe whatever it was she was looking for, she hadn’t been able to find there.
Anyway, what reason did I have to be suspicious? Pickpocketing was common in Barcelona, sure, but I knew my wallet was still in my pocket—after a few years with the mob, I would have noticed even the most skilled thief trying to take it—and even if she did come after my wallet, I could easily incapacitate her. We were in a mostly deserted aisle at the moment, so it wasn’t as though a friend of hers could rob me while she distracted me.
No, she posed no threat.
“Where is a gorgeous woman like you rushing off to?” I asked teasingly. “Don’t you know that time stops for a face like yours?”
The woman giggled again, ducking her head shyly and looking up at me through her long, dark lashes. “Tell that to my professor,” she said.
Again, those strange alarm bells in my head. I frowned. “You’re running through the back of the market to get to a class?” I asked.
“Shortcut,” she said. “That woman over there, Giulia, she’s an old friend of mine.” She raised her arm and waved, and sure enough, the older woman waved back. “She lets me in through the back door to the market—the one they use to take out the trash. I cut out two streets that way.”
“That makes sense,” I said. I frowned. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t keep you, if you’re already going to be late to your class…but perhaps I could take you out for coffee afterwards?”
The woman looked at her watch and sighed. “Honestly, I am already too late for this lecture,” she admitted. “If I show up now, the professor probably will not even let me into the room.” She tossed her long, curly brown hair. “I’m not usually late. But this morning I was visiting my mother in the hospital, and I wasn’t ready to leave…”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. I paused and cocked my head to the side. “Well, if you’re not going to go to your class, maybe I could take you out to coffee now? It sounds like you could use something to take your mind off…some things.”
“I’d like that,” the woman said. She held out a hand. “My name is Vitoria, by the way.”
“I’m Dmitry,” I told her.
“You’re Russian, aren’t you?” she asked curiously.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. I grinned crookedly. “What gave it away—the accent or the name?”
She laughed. “I’m sorry, you probably hate having people ask you about it. I just don’t expect to see many Russians in Spain!”
“We come for the beaches and stay for the women,” I told her, winking.
She laughed again and linked her arm in mine. “I know a great little coffee place near here,” she told me.
“Lead the way,” I said, already plotting how I could get her from the coffee shop to my beachfront mansion and into bed. Sometimes, the Catalonian women were tricky. They had a lot of pride, and they weren’t always ready to jump into bed right away. They needed to be wooed.
But after three years, I knew how to woo them. I’d take her out
for a nice dinner on my yacht—maybe I’d even cook for her. We’d stare out over the lights of the city, picking out the spires of La Sagrada Familia, the W Hotel, the office buildings. I’d brush her hair back off her shoulders and remark how lovely she looked, and then we’d kiss. She’d melt under my ministrations until she was begging me to fill her.
It was another reason I missed Russian women. The chase, with these Spanish women, was always the same.
Maybe Vitoria would surprise me though. I could hope so, anyway.
We sat down at a table in the back after placing our orders, Vitoria using rapid-fire Spanish when placing hers, laughing with the barista. I liked her laugh, I found myself thinking as I watched her. She tossed her head back and laughed merrily, as though she didn’t care who might hear her or who might stare.
“So do you live here in Barcelona, or are you just here for an extended visit?” Vitoria asked.
“I’ve lived here for the past three years,” I told her. I grimaced. “And my Spanish is still only rudimentary—maybe I need a better teacher!” Vitoria laughed again. “What about you?” I asked. “I’m sure if you lived here, I would recognize you. A man could never forget a stunning face like yours.”
It was cheesy, I knew, but women seemed to respond to the line. Especially proud Spanish women who wanted seemingly nothing more than to know that they and their beauty was appreciated.
Vitoria grinned. “I grew up here in Barcelona, but I’ve been away at school for a long time—first at boarding school and then at university. My parents wanted me to have a global education.” She paused. “What about your family? They must miss you.”
“My brothers also live here, and some of my other family as well,” I told her, shrugging. “In any case, all my mother really worries about is when we’ll all settle down with good wives and start having grandchildren that she can dote on.”
“Is that what you’re looking for?” Vitoria asked.
I grinned, knowing exactly what she was trying to trap me into saying. If I told her that all I was looking for was a good fuck, she would know I was a player and be offended that that was all I wanted from her. But if I told her I was looking for a real relationship and a family, then as soon as I moved on to the next woman, she’d claim I had broken her heart and send her brother, cousin, neighbor, whoever to beat me to a living pulp.
“I’m afraid that at the moment, my work situation doesn’t allow me much time to have a serious relationship, let alone children,” I finally said.
“What do you do for work?” Vitoria asked.
“I’m involved in the family business,” I told her. “Trade.”
“Interesting.”
“But if you’ve been at university abroad, what brings you back to the city?” I asked.
Vitoria sighed and looked away. “Like I said, this morning, I was visiting my mother in the hospital. She’s been diagnosed with some rare disease. There’s a decent rate of recovery, but I could never forgive myself if something were to happen to her while I was away at school.”
“Of course,” I murmured, reaching out to squeeze her hand comfortingly.
She smiled across the table at me. “So what were you doing at the market anyway? Isn’t it usually Russian women who do the shopping and the cooking?”
I laughed. “That might be true if I had a Russian wife,” I told her. “I know how to handle myself in the kitchen. I haven’t mastered many Spanish dishes yet, but suffice it to say that I’m not living on frozen meals.”
“Hmm, a man who can cook,” Vitoria said, raising an eyebrow at me. “You’re quite the catch, aren’t you?”
“You haven’t even seen my yacht yet,” I boasted.
“You have a yacht?” Vitoria asked in surprise. She frowned. “Your family has a yacht?”
“I have a yacht,” I told her proudly. “I do work for the family business now, but before I moved to Barcelona, I had saved up quite a bit of money. I was a famous hockey player.”
“Figures,” Vitoria laughed. “And what, you swapped the ice for the sand? You don’t look old enough to be retired.”
I grimaced. “I took a couple bad hits,” I told her. “My knees do all right for walking, but my skating will never be the same again.”
It was Vitoria’s turn to look sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said.
I shrugged. “I’ve come to terms with it,” I told her stoically. “I made my millions young, and now I have plenty of time to enjoy them.”
Vitoria laughed. “I suppose that’s one way to look at things!” She raised an eyebrow. “So any chance I might get to see this yacht at some point?”
I grinned at her. “Why don’t you let me take you out on Friday night?” I suggested. “We’ll sail out along the coast and have a nice dinner on the boat. You don’t get seasick, do you?”
Vitoria laughed and tossed back her hair. “Of course I don’t get seasick—I grew up here in Barcelona!” she told me. “The sea is in my blood.”
“Good,” I told her, smiling. “Then let me take you out on Friday night.”
“That’s a plan,” Vitoria said, scribbling down her phone number.
I slipped the number into my wallet, smiling a little to myself. That was almost too easy.
Chapter Three – Vitoria POV
I couldn’t believe how easy it was to get that Dmitry guy wrapped around my finger. All I’d had to do was get coffee with him, and he had already asked if he could take me out on his private yacht. Once I got him someplace private, there was no telling what sort of secrets I might get him to spill.
To be honest, I felt a little guilty about the way I was planning on using him. I’d expected him to be some horrible player, some absolute pig. But instead, he’d been surprisingly kind and empathetic when we’d talked at the coffee shop. The two of us had clicked nicely on our initial date.
But I wasn’t in this because I wanted to date him. I just needed to get information about what the Volkov family was planning so that I could buy the treatments that my mother so desperately needed.
I took a deep breath to compose myself, looking one last time in the mirror. I was trying my best to tread the thin line between sexy and reserved. If I looked too sexy, I was afraid that Dmitry would come on to me right away, and I knew that once I’d had sex with him, I would lose my allure. He was the kind of man who was interested in the chase; once he knew that he could just have me, he would move on to someone else.
And unfortunately, the more attraction I felt for him, the more I doubted my ability to hold myself back if he made a move.
So I needed to look reserved. But if I looked too reserved he wouldn’t be interested in me either. I needed to dangle the promise of sex right there in front of him, but I needed to keep it just out of reach. Like a carrot in front of a horse, urging it onwards.
I smiled a little to myself. This outfit, a simple rose-colored dress, did exactly that. It hugged my curves, but with its high neckline, it left something to the imagination. The smoky-eyed makeup would draw him in, but the carefully-coiffed hair wasn’t quite the siren’s call of having my hair loose and cascading down my back.
At least, I hoped so, anyway.
Dmitry couldn’t keep his eyes off me when I met him at the pier. “Красивая женщина—a beautiful woman,” he murmured.
I blushed and ducked my head. I would never have expected to find Russian to be a sexy language, but when he said it like that…
Dmitry held out his arm to me and led me towards one of the yachts. “Alba,” I said in surprise. “That’s Catalonian for dawn.”
“I know,” Dmitry said, smiling crookedly at me. “I didn’t name her that. I don’t speak a word of Catalan. But with the name, I guess there’s a story, and it never seemed right to rename her.”
I gave him a considering look. He was surprisingly thoughtful, for a Russian hockey player. But before I could comment, he was leading me onboard and casting away the lines.
&
nbsp; “It’s mostly ceremonial,” he admitted, glancing over his shoulder at me. “I’ve hired a crew to captain her for the night so that I can focus on the dinner and…you.” Again, his eyes stroked over my dress, and I felt a shiver of anticipation.
Maybe I hadn’t managed to be quite as reserved as I’d meant to be. I tried to remember why that mattered, especially as he stepped in close to me, brushing a lock of hair off my neck and tucking it securely behind my ear.
“You really do look beautiful,” he murmured.
“Thank you,” I breathed, wondering if he was going to kiss me. For a moment, he paused there, and I thought for sure that he would, but then he grinned crookedly at me and pulled away. “I hope you’re hungry. I’ve put together a nice barbecue.”
“That sounds great,” I said, even though hunger for food was the last thing on my mind at the moment. I trailed after him as he made his way across the deck. As we looked out across the water, the sun was just starting to set, and the lights in Barcelona were just starting to come on.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Dmitry suggested, nodding towards some comfy seats spread around at strategic intervals. “I’ll get the grill going and the food cooking, and then I’ll join you. Can I get you anything to drink—water, wine, beer?”
“Wine would be nice,” I said, even though I knew that the last thing I needed was to poison my ability to think clearly. I settled in on one of the couches, and a few minutes later, I gratefully accepted the crisp Chardonnay.
“We’re having chicken for dinner, so I thought it would be fitting,” Dmitry said, looking almost nervous.
I smiled reassuringly at him. “That’s perfect,” I said, taking a sip.
Dmitry smiled toothily at me and then retreated to the grill, as he started the fire and got to cooking.
I swallowed hard as I watched him. The summer evening was warm, and I could see the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His muscles were just as well-defined as one might expect from a former professional hockey player in a nice form fitting shirt. He clearly knew what he was doing, too: deftly lining up food on the grill and flipping it as it cooked.
